It's Been a Month...

...since I miscarried.
One month since God put a big, fat cherry on the shit-cake that was 2016.

How have I been coping, you ask?

The first couple of weeks were a complete blur.
Everything was slow and fuzzy and confusing.

My main goal was to get a shower in each day, only to dress myself in the same pj's I was wearing, and had worn....for weeks.

On the plus side, I realized when you're going through a crisis, you don't have to worry about keeping up with laundry.
In January, I finally did a load of my own laundry, and it was barely full.
I wore exactly 3 pairs of pj's and two work outfits.

The bleeding finally stopped about a week after, which I think is normal.

I did get my ass back into work four days after the miscarriage.
Only to realize just how much I had neglected.

Everything was screwed up and I needed to try my best to get back at it.
But my tenacious attitude was missing.

The next week my goal was to get up, every day, and get into work. All five days. All on time.
Picking out normal clothes each morning and putting make-up over my sullen, sunken-in, pale face was exhausting.

I headed in for a blood draw to see if my body had anything to contribute to the miscarriage.
And the gyno told me one of the FIVE vials of blood drawn ended up freezing en route, so I had to have it re-done.

Back I went.

The panel revealed that by body had not contributed to the miscarriage.
All the tests performed came back within the normal range, or were negative.
I am blessed to have this information, but it doesn't help the looking for an answer issue that seems to always be lurking in the back of my thoughts.

And had a follow-up uterine check to make sure I healed correctly.

That appointment was tough.

The waiting room was packed when I arrived.
The doctor's were behind in their appointments, and every. single. woman in that waiting room was pregnant, and likely carrying another baby in tow.

I sat in the corner and closed my eyes while a young mother sang The Wheels on the Bus to her baby.

Throughout this entire process, I have never been angry, or jealous, or sad about seeing other pregnant women...but that night was too much for me.

I pushed past tears and finally made my way back to the exam room, sitting on the paper runway, as the doc gave me his condolences and confirmed my body was back to normal.

I hated having those feelings of sadness, looking at the women that may or may not have had an easy time conceiving.
So instead of dwelling on what I didn't have and what they did, when I got home I wrote a prayer that all the women in the room with me birth babies free of complications and genetic abnormalities.
What they are going through is very different from what I am going through, but not necessarily any easier.

I also got chewed out at work for completely slacking off since October.
And I cried in my bosses office....because as much as I knew it was 100% true, there was nothing I could do about it.

I told him I wasn't trying to make excuses...I fully accepted responsibility for my poor performance, but I stood my ground.

I told him that while he was aware of some of the bigger aspects of my life in 2016, there was much I didn't bring to the table because I wasn't one to constantly complain about how shitty things seemed to be getting. I was strong. I would get through it.

But I guess I was wrong.

The thing is....most of what we went through in 2016 is normal.
Although not fun in any way, dealing with these things could likely happen in every person's life at some point.

The kicker was....it all happened in one year for us, as opposed to spread out over the course of 10-or-so years.

And I flat out told him that someone who may not be as strong as I was would have taken a good portion of the year off to deal and rehabilitate.

But I like my company and my co-workers and my job, and I want to fix this.
So I'm sorting everything out and trying to get back at a normal pace.

I'm giving myself grace to push myself, but not too hard.
Every day is different.
I try to laugh every single day, but that doesn't cancel out the overwhelming sadness sometimes.

I pull into my driveway every night and I stop just around the turn, to watch the little star we placed on Crash's grave change colors. And I think about his alert barking, that I miss so dearly, as I would pull into the driveway every evening. I think about his snoring and his snarly, crooked teeth.

I catch myself clutching my baby's wubby too tightly some nights, praying my belly was still expanding from him.

But these moments are more and more fleeting as the days go on.

Crash (would have) turned 11 on January 23rd, and because of the over-sharer I am at times, I also started my first post-miscarriage period that day.

In a way, I felt like that Monday was a new starting point for me...for us.
A fresh start, a new cycle, to take the lessons from 2016, put them in my back pocket as a token of wisdom for the future, and keep walking forward.

Mark and I have our break-downs and bicker (and scream at each other sometimes), I won't lie, but for the most part stay close and wind-down with a cocktail and a funny show each night.

We play with fetch with Burn, and laugh while cooking dinner, and pamper the cat.

It's very ritual and mundane, but I crave the simplicity in my life right now.

I am getting stronger, mentally and physically, and by the time the weather breaks and the sun starts shining more, I know I will be back to fighting shape.

Thanks for reading. XO